The Crack in the Tea Cup
by Lesley-Ann
Summary: The smaller the monkey, the more it looks like it would kill you at any time.


TITLE: 'The Crack in the Tea-Cup'   
  
AUTHOR: Lesley-Ann  
  
EMAIL: leelee_bitca@yahoo.co.uk  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy. I'm pretty clear on that point. Get slapped with enough lawsuits, it finally begins to sink in.  
  
SUMMARY: There's a brief reappearance of the beach last seen in the season 5 opener. But it's been transformed into an Irish beach: it's cold, wet, there's sand in your shoes, and there's more chance of getting windburn than sunburn.  
  
NOTES: So season 6 started on Sky 1 (finally). I'm finding what Buffy is going through really interesting. So I started messing about with this. The title comes from a W.H. Auden poem, it's something like:  
"The crack in the tea-cup that opens  
A lane to the land of the dead".  
The alternative title was gonna be 'The Smaller the Monkey.'  
  
Born-to-Beta Tim Creecy looked over this. It's good, cause I have someone to blame for anything bad *ducks and runs *  
  
FEEDBACK: I feel really hypocritical (what with the not-so-much-there-as-not policy I've had going on), but yup, I'll take some of the feedback if it's going.  
  
*****************************  
  
Her muscles hurt for a while, at first. She didn't realise until after biker-demon ass had been kicked; but later, she was stiff. No big deal - hey, not like she was working those biceps in…wherever she had been. Only to be expected, really. And after a couple of days the soreness disappeared.   
  
It wasn't that big a deal.  
  
*******************************  
  
It wasn't weird, she thought, for her to want to be alone. Just for a little bit. It wasn't like she was running away. She was really pleased with the progress she was making, actually. She was finding it easier than expected to worry about bills and Dawn's future.   
  
It was a little simpler getting to sleep too; her breathing didn't distract her anymore. The heartbeat was more difficult. She wondered if Angel had been as disturbed by it's steady pulse. If Spike ever wanted to rip it out too, just to end the non-stop throb.  
  
Still, she was improving. So it wasn't that weird to want to be alone [slayers are alone] sometimes.  
  
*******************************  
  
Her body was curled up on the damp sand [kidney infection, sweetheart], and she stared out at grey sea meeting grey sky.   
  
Her friends were going to come looking for her soon. They didn't like her being on her own. They wanted her to talk, get angry, cry. They didn't believe her when she said she was tired.  
  
She was. It was draining, being human again. Just being with Willow or Xander, even Dawn, wore her down. These days, she got exhausted just looking at the expressions flitting across Willow's face. She got lost in that small worried furrow between Willow's eyebrows. The bumps and pauses of Xander's voice were miles of road, and Dawn's small shrugs and smiles a night fighting an Apocalypse.   
  
They all turned into mirrors when she was brought back. And she didn't like the reflection in any of them. Except, sometimes, Spike's.   
  
"You're the most beautiful girl in the whole bloody world, Buffy," she said aloud. It rang hollowly in her ears.   
  
She should have gone back to the house, back to the Magic Box before ['We were worried, Buffy'] it got too late. But her body remained where it was.  
  
*****************************  
  
She only looked up when Xander stood right in front of her.  
  
"Hey," slightly cautious.  
  
"Hey."   
  
"We got kinda worried," he said. "Didn't know where you were."  
  
"Sorry," she tried for apologetic. "I just…wanted to be alone for a while."  
  
"Tough couple of days," Xander said, and it wasn't a question.  
  
"Like you wouldn't believe."  
  
"Y'know, and this in no way reflects on my general supportive and non-judgemental demeanour, cause hey - I'm supportive, supportive guy, that's me, banner-carrying member of the Buffy-club…but don't you think we should be heading home?"  
  
She wrapped her arms more tightly around her knees. She didn't think her body was able to stand, let alone trudge the entire journey…home.   
  
He held up his arms in a don't-shoot gesture. "I mention this only because Willow and Tara are combing the cemetery, and Anya's checking out Main Street."  
  
She opened her mouth. "Dawn?" -   
  
"At the Magic Box. With Giles. She's worried."  
  
She nodded, looked around Xander, to where the waves hit the shore, sending foam flying.  
  
With a sigh, Xander flopped down next to her.  
  
"Who's in the driver's seat, Buff?" he asked. He sounded as tired as she felt, for a second, but she still couldn't make herself look at him.  
  
"You think you should be asking me? I failed driver's ed, remember?" Her voice sounded thoughtful, sad. She wondered how it remembered to sound like that, when she didn't.  
  
"C'mon, it's getting dark."  
  
She meant to agree. Get up, go back to Dawn: back to normal, Buffy style.   
  
"Buffy, c'mon, I'm serious. You'll catch pneumonia. Come home, we can talk at home." He sounded really worried, and she meant to say "Okay. Let's go," but somehow what came out was -   
  
"There was this guy, and he thought that whenever you're with people, you're pretending. Showing them what they want to see. Like, the only way to be yourself, is to be alone. Except, even then, you're sorta fooling yourself," she trailed off.   
  
"Yeah, I hear that," Xander said. He sounded unsurprised.   
  
"You do?" She'd lost Tony again, at that point. No-one else [They're no smarter than you or me] seemed to have problems with it, though, so…  
  
"Yeah, it's like - the smaller the monkey, the more it looks like it would kill you at any time."  
  
"What?" her voice sounded confused.  
  
"The smaller the monkey, the more it looks like it would kill you at any time," Xander repeated patiently.  
  
"I'm discussing universal truths and you're talking about monkeys?" she noted distantly that her voice had gained a pissed tinge.  
  
"Look, Buff, I don't wanna make with the ha-has over something you're going through, believe me; but I don't think this is the best place to ponder million dollar questions."  
  
"You can't exactly decide when to ponder them. They kinda sneak up on you," she said flatly.  
  
"Well, the way I see it, I can let you get depressed about truths I have no clue about, or we can discuss truths I _do _ know something about, until you want to go home."  
  
She risked a sideways look. He looked serious, hair damp from the drizzly rain she couldn't remember starting. He caught her eye and shifted nearer, until they were opposite each other. He crossed his legs Indian style, and waited. She wondered when Xander got to be so comfortable in his own skin.   
  
"You ready? Go on, hit me with it."  
  
"Xander…"  
  
"No, go on. I am all over this."  
  
"I don't…" She stared at sand at her feet.  
  
"Okay, I'll go first. There's no panic like the panic you feel when   
you've got your hand or head stuck in something."  
  
He held his left palm out like he expected her to hand over one of her universal truths. He wiggled it a little as the silence stretched out.  
  
"Fine," she gave in. "If everything everyone does is because Destiny [it's who you are] mapped it out, and not because they are who they are [Buffy, the vampire slayer] then what's the point in doing - anything?" She didn't know why it came out as a question.  
  
Xander nodded. "It's _impossible _ to describe the smell of a wet cat."  
  
She looked away. She hadn't expected Xander to figure it out, but she thought he might have made more of an effort.  
  
"Would you still be who you are, if things were [Buffy, the checkout girl] different?"  
  
"Triangle sandwiches taste better than square ones."  
  
Her mouth curved upwards on it's own.   
  
"Are you still the same person, even after you've [pushing up daisies, floating around] changed?"  
  
"Poking a fire with a stick makes you feel manly," Xander interrupted.  
  
" Or are you a whole new person?" she cut in.  
  
"Nobody dares make cuppa soup in a bowl," he said quickly.   
  
"And if you are a whole new person - do your friends want the new you, or the old you?" she said. It sounded like a challenge.  
  
"You _cannot _ look cool while picking up a Frisbee."  
  
She opened her mouth. She closed it again.   
  
Xander continued, "Everyone had an uncle who tried to steal their nose." He raised both eyebrows at her.  
  
She conceded, "Father."  
  
"Bet he didn't try and sell it back to you at ten percent interest," he said. "Uncle Rory."  
  
She realised she had lost what had been a competition.  
  
"Okay?"  
  
"I think I'm all truthed out, for tonight."   
  
Xander glanced up at the darkening sky, and scrambled to his feet. "We better get going."  
  
He extended a hand, and she took it, pulled herself upright.  
  
"Let's go…home," she said. The relief in Xander's eyes made her try out a smile.  
  
It almost fit. 


End file.
